Uneasiness
by StarsAboveInMyEyes
Summary: Petunia Dursley thinks back to the past, peppered as it is with thorny roses.


_2 May, 1998._

Tossing and turning in bed, for the third time in her life, Petunia Dursley found that she could not sleep. She twisted under the covers, tired from a day of cleaning and cooking but unable to doze off, even as midnight stretched into twilight. It had been almost a year since she had left Privet Drive, the only home she had known that had held some semblance of normality to her, and had failed miserably to distract herself from that thought. She still didn't know whether she had loved the house or not, although an inkling in her stomach told her that the latter was true; no matter how many times she had scrubbed the windows and wiped the floors, Petunia had never been able to wash away the sinful blot that had long blemished the house, the irascible spot that tarnished the cupboard under the stairs even after its occupant had moved.

The memory of Privet Drive brought a twinge of guilt burrowing in Petunia's gut and so she decided to focus on her recollection of the other two sleepless nights instead.

———

_"A-a witch in the family?" Her mum's trembling voice reached her ears. "That's - I never - wow!" The proud parents sat, beady-eyed and smiling, on the periwinkle sofa. Between them was Lily, red-haired and beaming, and on Petunia's favourite peach coloured armchair, straight-backed and smiling tiredly, was a woman she had never seen before. The woman wore a heavy dark brown trench coat, even though it was late summer, which looked as old as Petunia's Grandma, and old-fashioned buckled leather shoes. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight bun, without as much as a strand out of place._

_"Yes, Mrs. Evans, a witch," she confirmed w__ith a light Scottish accent._

_"But, Professor McGonagall," Lily's small voice began, cautious but enthusiastic. "What about T- Petunia? Does she have magic too? Can she come to Hogwarts with me?"_

Magic_, Petunia thought both scornfully and interestedly, stepping around the corner and into the living room._ Maybe the Snape boy had been lying_, she told herself._ Maybe she _was_ a witch after all.

_Her family looked startled at her sudden appearance and Petunia imagined herself flashing into the living room in a puff of smoke, creating a much more surprising effect. She smiled at 'Professor McGonagall' and sat down in a low pouffe next to the sofa, smoothing out her dress as she looked up expectantly._

_Professor McGonagall eyed her unreadably before answering._

_"I'm afraid not, Ms. Evans," she finally said and Petunia's smile vanished. "Your sister hasn't shown any signs of magical ability thus far." And then, at Lily's crestfallen appearance - "Magic is an inherent trait, Ms. Evans. Some can do it, some can't, but as Headmaster Dumbledore once said, it is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities__." At __the last part, she smiled kindly in Petunia's direction before turning back to Lily._

_"Now, you will, of course, be requiring school supplies." Petunia zoned out at that. Her mind had gone __blank and her heart was thumping violently in her ears._

_Later that night, when she lay in bed, Professor McGonagall's words would replay over and over in her head, along with the jeering voice of the greasy-__haired Snape boy._

_"Muggle!" he taunted and Petunia fell, down, down, below her bed and the Earth and the wizarding world, the sting of rejection feeling much more like a blow with every passing second._

_———_

Snapping out of her reverie, Petunia got up, shuffling for her slippers on the unfamiliar wooden floor. It took her a minute to remember that she was no longer staying at Number Four, Privet Drive, but a safehouse instead, one that was just as nonmagical as her previous one, apart from the protections and 'wards' the _Order_ had set on it. She shivered, crinkling her nose at the thought of _their_ lot and their war and their casualties, putting innocent people like her and Vernon and their Diddykins in danger.

Moonlight filtered weakly through the dark blue lacy curtains, outlining her husband's evenly rising and falling form as he slept, unaware of his wife's uneasiness. Petunia shook it off, deciding that a cup of tea was in place and that she had better ignore it _( like she did so many other things in life)._

A dark haze smudged the starless night sky, the moon's rays flickering in and out of reach through the fog as Petunia sat in a wiry chair on the terrace, clutching a cup of strong steamy tea. _"It's the Dementors,"_ she remembered Hestia Jones explaining the unusual weather as Dedalus Diggle drove, her own self clutching Dudley's arm as he stiffened. _"They're breeding like mad, they are. 'Course, the Muggles can't see them." _She'd then told her that she and her family would be safe and Petunia imagined she had said the same thing to Lily, reassuring that nothing would go wrong and she and her husband could raise their child in peace while the war raged on outside their doorstep, unable to turn their doorknob until one day it finally did. Until her sister and her husband were dead and cold on the floor and she got stuck with their wretched son, barely a year old and already scarred from the war and bright-eyed just like his mother. Petunia inhaled sharply.

———

_A scream tore throug__h the calm morning air a second after the door of Number Four, Privet Drive was rattled open. The screech woke the neighbours, causing some to peek through their blinds and lacy curtains while others cracked their front doors open and stuck their heads out. Mrs. Next Door backed away immediately upon catching sight of Petunia Dursley's venomous glare and pale face, nose wrinkled like a prune. Mad woman, was all she could think as she bolted the door shut and slipped back upstairs, irate but tired as she went back to bed, unaware of the momentous events of the night she'd just slept through._

_Meanwhile, the so-called__ 'mad woman' wrenched the bundle off of her doorstep before any one could blink, wringing the envelope in her hands as she reassured herself that it was probably meant for someone else, that the sender had got the wrong address. Petunia shut the door with stiff hands and marched down the hallway, refusing to look at the squirming child in her arms as she made for the living room. She placed the bundle on the nearest couch before seating herself in the one farthest from it, lips pursed and senses alert. With one last breath, she relaxed her face and read the address:_

Mrs. Petunia Dursley

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

_Of course,__ Petunia thought bitterly, there was no way the letter could've been addressed wrongly; the baby's eyes had been too brilliantly green to be anyone but Lily's. Precious Lily and her magic, the same thing that had killed their parents. Petunia's expression soured as though the thought had a taste, a sharp lemony one that stung the edges of her throat._

_She then prepared herself for the worst__ and opened the envelope, wanting nothing more than to toss it into the fire. Loopy blue handwriting which Petunia wished she couldn't recognise formed the contents of the letter, neat with an aura of mystique, stretching down the length of the paper. She checked for another page, a long explanation and apology for why her freaky sister's spawn had been left at her doorstep but found none, just a one-paged letter that stopped a few lines short of the end of the paper._

Dear Mrs. Dursley,

It is with deep regret that I must inform you of the death of your sister, Lily Potter neé Evans. The dark wizard coined Lord Voldemort arrived at her house last night with the intention to kill her child. He murdered both her and her husband, James, but her son, Harry, survived. We do not yet know how, nor do I think we ever will, but that is not a matter of concern as of now. With you and your family being his last living relatives, I must assign you the task of his guardianship. Until the war truly ends, Harry will be in grave danger but for now, he shall be safe within your custody, owing to the many protective wards I have assigned over the house as well as the ancient magic that flows in the blood of family. The funeral arrangements are, lest you object, in your hands. If you do, then Remus Lupin has agreed to complete the task. Please find enclosed an address in case of any problems that may arise.

Yours truly,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

_It was a long time before Petunia could move again_._ She dropped the letter. It flew away and skittered across the floor, coming to rest near the couch where Lily's son lay, opening and closing his fists in the air and calling questioningly for "Mama", not knowing that he'd never see her again. Petunia let out a dry sob, vision blurring, regret clamping around her heart. Lily's magic had killed her too, she thought._

_She wouldn't sleep a wink that night._

———

The empty teacup slipped from her hands and shattered on the floor, breaking the silence with itself. Petunia refused to blink as she picked up the pieces, hoping the air would dry her tears as her hands shook over the ground. Every piece she collected was a reminder of her reality, the bitterness of not being able to flick a stick and fix the cup feeling almost childish next to the wave of regret crashing on the rocky shores of her heart.

Legs trembling, Petunia got to her feet and did her best to overlook the hollowness of her insides, knowing full well that her jealousy had long ago eaten them away. It was too late to do anything now; what was done was done and no amount of magic in the world could change that. Lily was dead and gone and she suspected her son would soon follow, leaving Petunia alone to finally live out her own life, the war won or lost. The thought cramped her and she wished that she could discard it as easily as the shards of porcelain in her hands, present one moment and gone the next.

_The past was a field of blood red roses with needle-sharp thorns_.

And Petunia Dursley could do nothing as they scratched her legs, the petals sliding like velvet and silk over her skin before pinching and slicing it. The pain brought about a sense of reality to her dull mind and she relished it, freely letting the drops of blood go like she herself never would. She knew that she'd moved on a long time ago, choosing to focus on better things like spying on the neighbors or fussing over the gleaming kitchen shelves, ignoring the unhealed cuts and blisters on her body as much as she ignored her nephew's eyes or Lily's memory. But it was all she could think of as she made her way back to the bedroom, away from the world she knew existed yet could never be part of, the boy she had taken in yet never seen as her own, the sister she'd loved much and hated more.

Regret would hover above her until the scythe of death replaced it, and Petunia Dursley would stop breathing before she could ever appreciate the freedom of the air.

_(Perhaps she deserved it.)_

_———_


End file.
